


This is Your Brain on Drugs

by zade



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Detox, Drug Use, M/M, Out of Character, Pre-Slash, Reference to Torture, Schmoop, idk it's kinda a mess but i like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 08:49:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3243584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/zade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Bellamy suspected anything, was the first time he saw Murphy after his captivity.  </p><p>AU in which everything is exactly the same except also Murphy is on drugs (written for a tumblr prompt)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Your Brain on Drugs

**Author's Note:**

> written for somebodysmonster, "murphy/bellamy + 35. one of them trying to get the other one off of drugs au. bye."  
> [here](http://racetrackthehiggins.tumblr.com/post/108688595275/murphy-bellamy-35-one-of-them-trying-to-get-the) on tumblr
> 
> beta'd by [hateboners](hateboners.tumblr.com)
> 
> warnings for drug use, detoxing, and Bellamy being kinda oblivious

The first time Bellamy suspected anything, was the first time he saw Murphy after his captivity. He had been complacent, spacey almost, and surprisingly helpful. Bellamy’s first thought, was that he was high. His second, was that he was traumatized. His third, days later, was that Murphy was lulling them into a false sense of security to more effectively kill them all. To be fair, this third thought had occurred right around the time Murphy had kicked the box from under his feet, leaving him to die of suffocation.

The second time Bellamy suspected something was quite a while later. Finn was a few days gone, and a tense quiet had settled over Camp Jaha. When he went for his morning meal, he saw Octavia sitting with Raven, which was only strange in that usually it took a crowbar, or more moonshine than he was comfortable feeding his little sister, to get her away from Lincoln.

“Did something happen?” he asked her, less concerned than he could have been because she smiled as he approached.

“Murphy said he wanted to talk to him for a minute, so I decided to rescue Raven from Wick so we could eat together.” Octavia smiled and Bellamy felt the familiar pang of guilt seeing her with her friends. She should have had this her whole life, he thought.

Raven half smiled, which was more than she had been doing lately, too. “Yeah, Octavia is a real life saver.” Which wasn’t really funny, Bellamy thought, because it was true.

He stopped, suddenly preoccupied. “What does Murphy have to talk to Lincoln about?”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Go ask him, idiot.”

So he did.

Lincoln wasn’t officially a prisoner, but he also wasn’t free to leave the prison block (which Bellamy thought made him a prisoner, really, even though Clarke had tried to explain to him at least twice why that wasn’t true). He stopped before he got there, because the Ark was metal and Murphy was loud, so he could hear his voice reverberating down the hall without Murphy seeing him.

“Please, just tell me what it looks like.”

He had to lean forward to hear Lincoln, who was not nearly so loud or angry as Murphy.

“No. And it only grows on the Mountain Men’s side of river.”

Murphy scoffed. “I don’t care! We have guns. The Mountain Men don’t scare me!”

Bellamy assumed Lincoln conveyed how much he wasn’t going to tell Murphy visibly, because the next sound he heard was Murphy punching a wall, followed by, “Oh, fuck!” and then Murphy walking slowly into the hall, cradling an arm to his chest.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he spat when he saw Bellamy.

Bellamy wasn’t the quickest on his feet, but luckily he had an excuse that always worked: Octavia. “Came to see if Lincoln knows where Octavia is.”

Up close, Murphy looked terrible. His face was pale and sweaty, and his hand was trembling so violently that Bellamy wasn’t sure how he had managed the coordination required to punch something. Maybe he had just had enough practice. “She’s not in there.” Murphy started walking again, faster away from him.

“He still might know where she is,” Bellamy replied, watching him leave. He ducked in, smiling at Lincoln and trying to look incredibly casual, which based on Lincoln’s incredulous expression, he failed at.

Lincoln lounged against one of the metal walls, but even his nonchalant attitude couldn’t keep Bellamy’s eyes from the cuff around his ankle. “Your friend is very stubborn.”

“He’s not my friend,” Bellamy said, and then immediately felt bad. Murphy wasn’t anyone’s friend. Not anymore. “What did he come to talk to you about?”

Lincoln regarded him for a moment. “There’s a plant that grows on the wrong side of the river; it’s root is useful in interrogations.” He sat up a little straighter. “He told us very little without its help. And even so. It is impressive he is still standing.”

“What does the root do if you take it a lot?”

“I do not know of anyone who has lived long enough to find out.”

Bellamy didn’t like considering that. Considering Murphy, who was tortured and tried his hardest and who everyone had hated. Considering Murphy, who he should have welcomed back, but still hadn’t, not really. He nodded to Lincoln and then fled.

The third time was much less of a suspicion and much more of a blatant truth thrust into his face. Despite the fact that he and Murphy could shoot almost as well as any of guard, they were emphatically not guards, officially because of their ages, but Bellamy was pretty sure it was actually because Abby hated them.

So instead of guarding, they did drills. Endless drills. Murphy was almost as good as him, usually, sometimes even better. It had been a few days since his not entirely enlightening conversation with Lincoln, and since then he had noticed Murphy’s sickly white skin and the tremor in his hands growing to the point where drills had been called off two days in a row to stop Murphy from accidentally shooting someone. Or himself.

Or, as it happened, Bellamy. The bullet missed him by millimeters, blowing a hole in arm of his jacket and just brushing his skin. Murphy, pale and sweaty, swallowed, and looked at Bellamy uncomprehending for a moment before muttering, “Oops.”

Major Byrne called off their drills, again, and Murphy stomped towards his tent, which he had set up on the far end of camp, and Bellamy, being curious (or worried and calling it curious) decided to follow him.

It was getting dark and people were heading towards the mess or towards their own tents and so there was no one really around when Murphy took a nose a dive and hit the ground face first.

Bellamy ran over to him. Murphy was struggling up onto his arms and knees. Bellamy reached out to touch his shoulder but Murphy flinched violently away from him. “Murphy?” he asked instead.

“Shit, I’m gonna hurl.” Murphy turned to the side and vomited all over the grass. 

Bellamy grimaced. “Let’s get you to your tent.”

Murphy allowed himself to be lifted and Bellamy half walked half dragged him to his tent. He dumped Murphy on his pile of blankets and stood there, unsure of what to do.

“I should get Abby.”

Murphy snorted, eyes closing. He looked so exhausted Bellamy felt tired looking at him. “No. You should not.” Murphy tensed, suddenly, curling in on himself and shaking more violently before.

“Murphy what’s going on?” Bellamy asked, but he knew. He remembered his mom drying out, one of his friends being floated after sneaking into the infirmary to steal painkillers. He couldn’t have helped Murphy, of course, but what if he could have? What if there was an opportunity and he had missed it.

Murphy started laughing, still curled up in a ball and shaking like a leaf. “I ran out. I fucking ran out and that stupid fucking grounder won’t tell me shit. I’d go get more. I was going to get more.” He gestured to his pack, which was sitting by the front of his tent, all packed. “My jacket’s in there, can you—?”

Bellamy rummaged through Murphy’s pack, trying to be careful to replace things where he found them, but he knew Murphy was in no state to even notice. His pack was surprisingly full; provisions, of course, but also a few interesting rocks, Murphy’s leather jacket along with a jacket that Bellamy was almost certain belonged to Mbege, and, unless he was very much mistaken, a length of rope that had almost hanged Murphy.

The bag seemed to Bellamy like a portable reminder of loss and he felt nauseous and angry.

“You almost shot me.” Bellamy sounded angrier than he meant, and Murphy flinched as he handed him the jacket. “Why are you still taking that shit the grounders gave you when they were torturing you?

Murphy groaned and shrugged. “Makes it quiet.”

Bellamy realized this conversation was going nowhere fast and sat down, readying himself for the long haul. “Makes what quiet?”

“My head. It’s so fucking loud in there. Keeps my demons quiet.”

Bellamy chest ached at the reminder of Charlotte. “It makes you shaky and confused and pliant.”

Murphy opened his eyes and met Bellamy’s. “It makes me forget everyone would rather I was dead.”

Oh. Well, what did he have to say to that, really? He opened his mouth, thinking maybe he could make himself say he wouldn’t want that, when Murphy groaned and balled his fists tightly, tensing and trembling. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” he said after moment. He could justify it, he thought, because if Murphy was dead, no one would have saved him from going over the cliff. “But you need to be all here. What if someone attacks?”

“They can finish what you started.” Murphy’s voice sounded hoarse. 

“I’ll get you water,” Bellamy suggested, because he didn’t want to be in Murphy’s tent for another second. He stood up, made for the flap and freedom.

Murphy gagged, turning over and throwing up again on the floor of his tent His tremors were worse now, more violent. “Guess I owe you again.”

Bellamy stopped, turning to face him. “Let’s not keep score.”

Murphy nodded again, falling limp into his blankets. “Are you coming back?” He hesitated, almost nervous. “You don’t have to.”

Bellamy wanted nothing less than to not come back, but he couldn’t leave Murphy alone again. “Yeah. But no more of this bullshit. You find something else to help you, something that doesn’t affect your ability to help us. I got enough on my mind without worrying about you, too.”

“Yessir, your highness.” Murphy mock saluted, and Bellamy laughed, turning to leave again.

He jogged to the mess, filled up a small pitcher with water before heading back to Murphy. When he opened the tent flap, he was hit with the smell of vomit, Murphy had clearly puked again, and Bellamy resolved to clean it up if only so he wouldn’t have to smell it.

“Do you really?” Murphy asked, after he had sipped as much of the water as he could.

“Do I really what?”

“Worry about me.” Murphy stared directly into the pitcher.

Bellamy scowled. “Drink the rest of that water or I’m gonna punch you in the face.”

Murphy smirked.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. It was stupid. This was stupid. He helped Murphy lie back down and thought for the hundredth time he should probably get Abby or Clarke or anyone who knew anything about withdrawal. Instead, he cleaned up Murphy’s tent and made sure he drank the water, and sat with him as he shook. 

The next morning he woke curled towards Murphy, who was still asleep, but leaning against him, but facing him, and looking stupid and young. Octavia was probably right, he thought. He was an idiot.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk/prompt/interact with on [tumblr](racetrackthehiggins.tumblr.com)


End file.
